


that masquerades as moon

by pyotr



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Other, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17302310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyotr/pseuds/pyotr
Summary: arthur was good at solving everyone’s problems but his own, it seemed, and albert mason was very quickly becoming a problem.





	that masquerades as moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cicadaemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicadaemon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [in the sodium light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294660) by [Cicadaemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicadaemon/pseuds/Cicadaemon). 



> companion piece to cicadaemon's "in the sodium light" which is just some nice albert pwp. 
> 
> title is part of a lyric in "answer me" from the band's visit: "if i try, maybe i can see your shadow / in the sodium light that masquerades as moon"

albert mason, in arthur’s humble opinion, really was turning out to be more trouble that he was worth.

oh, arthur was happy enough to help, of course, glad to chase coyotes or fend off wolves or wrangle mustangs; it was never the helping itself the was the nuisance. it was the afterwards, mason’s smile and sincere thanks, the way his face lit with delight after every successful shot. it did strange things to arthur’s insides, twisting and turning in ways he didn’t much want to think about.

regardless, he kept coming back.

there were any number of times that arthur could have avoided mason; the man was hardly subtle, with his unending stream of babble and the way he stomped about the underbrush, and it would have been easy to stay clear. but arthur _liked_ mason, liked the way he seemed to listen to what he had to say and genuinely enjoy his company. just one or the other was hard enough to find, but both together, well. mason drew arthur like a moth to flame, was all.

(and it was nice to be something other than himself for a while, something other than _murderer_ or _outlaw_ or even dutch’s protégé. mason had seemed content to just know his name; he never expected answers to his questions.)

sometimes arthur even found himself looking forward to another run-in with mason, waiting with bated breath to find the man on chance. mason was easy company and arthur relished the way that he’d feel normal with him, even if just for a few hours. he’d started thinking of him, more and more and more, wondering where he was and what he was doing and if he was safe, enough that mason’s voice and his long, slim fingers began haunting arthur’s dreams.

it had been confusing at first, and then uncomfortable, and now it was just irritating. arthur found his mind wandering, had sketched mason time and time again until he was sure that he’d gotten a perfect likeness. and he’d _missed_ him, too, missed him enough to ache somewhere deep down inside.

“sorry for all the trouble,” mason had told him last time, breathless and exasperated, and arthur bit his tongue and waved a vague farewell.

_more trouble than you know, mister mason._

he didn’t know any more if what he’d felt for mary was love or lust or just plain infatuation, but he felt it for mason now, too. he got that same nervous flutter as a boy with a schoolyard crush, that same warm rush of pleasure when mason said his name. he’d never so much as glanced at a man in such a way before, let alone desire one, not like he had mary or eliza or any number of nameless women who’d been happy enough to take some coin and a quick fuck.

but now he couldn’t stop thinking about mason, about how he’d felt under arthur’s hands, shaking and gasping for breath. he’d been so _close,_ had leaned into him when arthur had pulled him to his feet, and the memory lingered like a bad taste. now when arthur closed his eyes he thought not of soft skin and supple curves, as he used to, but rather the brief heat of mason’s body against his own, the flutter of his racing pulse when arthur’s fingers had brushed his throat.

the thought- the implication, the _fantasy-_ made his mouth run dry.

arthur rents a room in valentine that night because walls around him and a roof over his head was always a novelty, not to mention sleeping on a feather tick. the most important luxury, though, was a door that locked and the solitude that came with it. there were just some things you couldn’t get, living in close quarters with so many people, and privacy was chief among them. he removes his hat and shrugs off his coat, stowing them both on the stand by the door, and when he sinks down to sit on the bed he props his elbows on his knees and puts his face in his hands, just for a moment.

there was no harm in it, he told himself; no one else would ever know, and then he’d be able to move past all these daydreams of mason and his hands and his _mouth_ , and go back to normal.

normal, or as close to it as he’d ever known.

“damn it,” arthur mutters to himself, a resigned curse pushed between his teeth.

there was no point in undressing entirely, not for this, and arthur was nothing if not efficient. he untucks his shirt but doesn’t take it off; the buckle on his belt clatters as he pulls it free and drops it inelegantly to the floor. his trousers come next, clumsily fumbling with the buttons and pushing fabric aside just enough to take his cock in hand. he was half hard already just from _thinking_ about mason, and wasn’t that the worst of it all, the way that he had arthur all twisted up like this and didn’t even know it?

(or maybe he did know, and arthur wasn’t sure he liked that much more. he didn’t _want_ to wonder if mason thought about him the same way, if he touched himself like this when he was alone with the same sort of pathetic desperation, even if the image of it sent a shot of heat straight down arthur’s spine.)

he spits in his palm and strokes himself slow, at first, swallowing down a groan as he drags the pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock. he squeezes his eyes shut and, after the barest moment of hesitation, pretends that it was mason’s hand curled around him, his fingers softer and slimmer, not calloused and worn from years of rough living. he thinks of mason pressed close, too, as he had been just a few hours ago, the way his breath had stuttered and the way he’d looked at arthur with wide, round eyes.

“mister mason,” arthur says, his voice coming out as a cracked whisper. and then, because that didn’t feel quite right, “albert.”

he wonders what it would be like to kiss him, to feel the rasp of his beard across his skin. albert would be earnest, he thinks, as he was in all things; a little clumsy, a little fumbling, but terribly sincere and unabashed. his lips would be soft like the rest of him, warm and eager, and he’d tangle his fingers in arthur’s hair and pull, just a little, when arthur nipped at his bottom lip.

arthur sucks in a sharp breath, twitching up into his fist.

he thinks of albert on his knees, cock in his mouth and his hands pressed to arthur’s hips as if to keep him still. his eyes would flutter shut as he swallowed him down and arthur groans, he can’t help it, and quickens his pace into fast, rough strokes. he imagines taking hold of albert’s hair, holding him there; something warm and heavy pools low in his gut.

“al, fuck, _albert_ —"

arthur fumbles for a handkerchief and bites the inside of his cheek, hard, as he spends, some choked-off noise sticking in his throat, caught between a whimper and a moan. he holds himself there a moment, blood rushing in his ears and breath coming fast, before he loosens up all at once with a gusty sigh. his nose wrinkles as he cleans himself up, mingled disgust and discomfort, before he falls backwards on the bed, staring hard at the ceiling.

he thought of albert- no, mason, mister mason, given names too familiar and more intimate than arthur wanted- and he still thought of all the same things as before, his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but now also _this,_ these fantasies that arthur had conjured up for himself. his stomach still swooped with nerves, and he still wanted to be around him, to seek the man out and spend a few pleasant hours chasing about whatever subject he’d decided on next. he groans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard enough that white stars bloomed beneath his eyelids.

arthur was good at solving everyone’s problems but his own, it seemed, and albert mason was very quickly becoming a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> albrtmason.tumblr.com


End file.
